This House Is Not A Home
by cupcakesandchaos
Summary: Draco Malfoy is tired of his home life. Things have gone from bad to worse and his only escape is dreaming of a magical place known as Hogwarts, a place he seeks a reprieve from his abusive father in. -AU-


**Summary:** Draco Malfoy is tired of his home life. Things have gone from bad to worse and his only escape is dreaming of a magical place known as Hogwarts, a place he seeks a reprieve from his abusive father in. Hogwarts isn't real, but he'll soon come to find that the people he's been dreaming of most certainly do exist. And they've been waiting for him.

**Rating:** M for future graphic sexual and physically abusive scenarios.

**Characters:** Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Theodore Nott, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore

**Date:** November 3rd, 1997

**Author's Note:** This is an entirely AU - Alternate Universe - fanfic. The magical world does not exist. I do not own any of the characters, nor do I have any affiliation with J.K. Rowling. I'm writing this for the pure pleasure of writing. There is no set pairing for Draco, as I want this fanfic to focus mainly on his abusive home life and the new life that he is about to come into. I appreciate any and all reviews and would love to hear what you think.

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"He's been smoking again," a distressed voice said. If he hadn't known for a fact that his mother and father were the only two people in the room he was currently standing outside of, Draco would have never believed his own mother could have sounded so upset. He was shocked, to say the least, unaware that his mother had the ability to care about anything other than her country club friends and the latest clothing trends.

"We've confronted him about it a hundred times, Narcissa. What else would you have us do? We can't bring any public attention to this. Think how that will look." This voice, belonging to Draco's father, was less caring and sounded more exasperated, as if discussing why the rain wouldn't let up or why an undisciplined dog had peed on the rug yet again rather than his own son's weed problems. The vehemence and fear of public humiliation was nothing new in his father's voice.

"Talk to him! Ask him why he's doing this to himself! Anything! I refuse to be embarrassed by mothering a pot smoker!" Ah, so that was the real reason for her concern. Dear mum didn't want an embarrassment for a son. Draco rolled his eyes in disgust. He'd expected as much from his father, and, on some level, his mother as well, but she was usually less subtle about her disappointment in him, always trying to play the role of the good mother she clearly wasn't.

Didn't they understand that their very attitudes were the reason for his pot smoking and overall bad attitude and poor behavior? Didn't they realize that the fact that they cared so little for him was the cause of each and every police ride home, of every hit of a blunt taken, of every curse word that landed him in the principal's office at school? Well of course not. Realizing anything about Draco would require talents that were beyond the scope of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy's abilities.

Most of the time, when teenagers talked about their home life, they exaggerated and played things out to be worse than they really were. "My dad makes me do the dishes! I hate that old bastard," or, "My mom won't let me talk on the cell phone after nine! I wish she was dead!" but what did any of those prats know about truly hate-worthy parents? Of a father who was not only verbally abusive, but physically as well? Of a mother who was concerned more with her appearance than ensuring that her only child got breakfast, lunch, or sometimes even dinner?

Draco sighed and wanted to kick something before remembering that he was eavesdropping in the hall just outside his father's study. Drawing attention to himself would be a terrible idea. He would be sure to receive a few beatings with his father's cane if they knew he was listening to their private conversations.

No one knew what it was really like to have terrible parents and that just made Draco's addiction to pot worse. Take a hit, forget for a bit. That was his motto. And there was nothing better than just forgetting.

"I'm sorry, Narcissa, but I refuse to get dragged into that boy's problems." Lucius sounded anything but sorry.

"That _boy_ happens to be our son." Was his mother really defending him, though warped and odd it might be that she was doing so?

"Don't make me laugh, Narcissa. That boy is no son of mine." Draco had heard similar words a thousand times before, usually as a precursor to the half an hour beating sessions he endured nearly once a week, sometimes more, depending on how much alcohol his father drank, which then depended on how shitty the day at work had been for him. "Besides, you can't have a son when the people who created him don't even act like parents."

There was silence in the room for a few moments. Draco longed to see his parents' faces but figured he was risking enough of his father's wrath by hanging outside his study door as it was. "We were too young Lucius."

A deep sigh came from the older man and he sounded tired, the sort of tired that old men feel perpetually, the kind that no amount of sleep can cure. "We've fucked up, Narcissa. It's too late to change things with Draco now. He's nearly eighteen years old and we can't take back these last seventeen years. But we should have done right by him, though we were just children ourselves."

Draco could hardly believe his ears. His father never spoke like this and never so calmly either. Maybe this was just a dream. Maybe Draco was really back in his bed on the next floor up, fast asleep and dreaming of what it would be like to hear an apology of sorts for the treatment bestowed upon him by the two people who were, by all means, supposed to love him more than anything.

That was an ideal world, anyways.

A sniffle was heard and Draco decided to leave before this feeling – was it pity? Grief? Or, God forbid, forgiveness? – escalated and completely overtook him. He didn't want to hear anymore belated apologies. No, those were seventeen years too late and no matter how upset his father had sounded when saying they should have done right by him, Draco wasn't going to let the last seventeen years of his life slide because he'd overheard some sort of twisted excuse for remorse in his father's voice.

His father was right, however. Damn it, his parents _should_ have loved him properly. All he had ever done as a small child was seek the affection and approval from Narcissa and Lucius, but they had been too involved in each other, in finishing school and making their slightly tarnished reputations gleam bright once more, to give Draco proper attention. They worked their way around the social circles, dragging Draco along when they could use him to their advantage, but beyond that hardly giving the small blonde more than a passing thought.

He shouldn't have had to grow up with his nanny practically being his stand-in mother. His real mother should have loved him, despite the fact that she'd been his age now when she'd had him. It hadn't been _his_ fault that they'd had unprotected sex and had gotten pregnant with him. So why was everything always taken out on Draco? Why did he have to suffer the faults for the sins of his parents? How was that, in any dimension, on any level, fair?

Well, it wasn't. And Draco was tired of all these feelings rioting around inside of him, so the first thing he did when he stepped into his room was lock the door, turn the lights off, and reach for a hit of the forgiving, make-me-forget sweetness that he inhaled through both nasal and oral cavities. One hit was enough to pull him to a comfortable low but Draco wanted to submerge himself deeper, to the point where he could feel absolutely nothing and remember very little about his own life.

A few hits more and Draco could barely keep his eyes open, his body was that relaxed. Having money was a blessing when it came to purchasing drugs. You could ensure that you got the very best of the lot, meaning you could do less and get twice as high. Draco's daily allowance was currently smoking in the bottom of his pipe and saturating the roof of his mouth, thickening his saliva with its flavor.

Sometimes, when Draco reached such a low point, he began to imagine an alternate universe, where instead of constantly fearing for his life, he was on top of the social food chain and people feared him, respected him even. He liked to imagine that there was a school called Hogwarts, a place where witches and wizards would go from a young age to learn and sharpen magical abilities. He'd been dreaming of such a place since he was a small child and even had half-filled journals scattered around the room with random, on and off again scribbles about it.

Of course he knew it was rubbish. There was no such thing as magic. But it was the one truly good feeling Draco could ever recall having in his life and so he clung to it like a lifeline, submersing himself in the entirely unrealistic world that was Hogwarts. When it stopped being enough, that's when he'd turned to drugs. So far pot was really the only thing that could bring Draco to where he wanted to be and he hadn't bothered experimenting with others. But he knew one day pot wasn't going to be enough either. Until that day came, he stuck with the familiar.

After sitting on his bed in silence for a few minutes, his brain struggled to work properly and reminded him to open a window, so as not to attract unwanted attention from either his parents or one of the live-in maids due to the smell that was permeating the air in his room. He meandered across the floor to slide a window open and, after stashing his smoking paraphernalia under a loose floorboard, he climbed into bed and fell into an almost coma-like sleep.

When he woke, he glanced at the clock and saw that it read 10 am in the morning. His heart nearly bolted out of his chest when he wondered about the day of the week, but quickly calmed down when he realized today was a Saturday and therefore not a school day. After staring blearily around the room for a few more moments, he pushed himself out of bed and drug himself to the bathroom for a quick shower.

He was fairly sure that his parents were gone for the day so he strode out of his room and downstairs without much thought. Just as he'd suspected, the house was completely empty (aside from the maids, who preferred to go about their business unseen, which suited Draco just fine) and that meant there was no one around to reprimand Draco. He stole into the kitchen, grabbed the nearest food he could find – which happened to be a banana – and bolted, leaving the house without a backward glance.

His groggy mind had cleared up slightly in the shower but Draco got the distinct impression that the hazy memories of his dream from the previous night were struggling to bring themselves to the forefront of his mind, like they wanted to be remembered. He was vaguely aware of having dreamt of Hogwarts again, though this time the students there hadn't acted like they feared him but rather like he was a close friend of theirs, which was totally absurd as Draco had never had a true friend, either in real life or in any of his previous Hogwarts-related dreams.

He chewed on a bit of banana as he walked down the street and was so engrossed in trying to remember this dream of his that he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. A warm, solid body collided with his, an elbow or some other sharp limb jabbing into a two-day old bruise on his ribcage. He winced and had to force himself not to rub it as he gazed upon the person whom he had run into. It was a petite girl, most likely around his age, with beautiful curly brown hair and strangely familiar brown eyes.

With a jolt, he realized that he'd dreamed of this girl. And that in his dreams, she was always friends with the person who hated him the most. Her name was...

"Hermione," Draco whispered.

The girl looked startled and taken aback, surprised that someone she probably presumed was a stranger had known her name. Instead of questioning how he'd known her name, like Draco had assumed she would, she smiled a warm smile instead and said, "Hello Draco. I've been looking for you."

What in the name of England was going on? Surely this wasn't still happening. He had to be dreaming. Yes, that was the only logical explanation for this unrealistic phenomenon that was occurring this very moment. "How... how do you know my name?"

Hermione smiled softly. "I'm sure it's for the same reason that you know mine, though you're quite aware that you and I have never met before. At least, not in this dimension."

Dimension? What was she on about? "I'm afraid I don't follow."

The girl merely smiled once more. "I don't expect you to understand." Just as he was about to refute her obvious blow to his ego, she held up a hand. "It's not something that can easily be explained in a few sentences. But, if you want answers, you're going to have to trust me."

Was she crazy? Trust a stranger, albeit a very pretty one, who claimed to know him though he was quite certain the only place he'd ever met her was in his dreams? He eyed her skeptically. To say that Draco had trust issues was a bit of an understatement. "Why should I?" he questioned.

Hermione simply shrugged. "We don't know each other. What have I got to gain by lying to you?"

Draco had to admit that the curiosity was getting to him. This entire situation was completely absurd and yet his feet were begging him to do something, to follow this girl to a place where he could get answers. "I'm not sure," he answered truthfully. "What have you got to gain by telling me the truth?"

Hermione laughed and it was a musical sound that had Draco's eyes narrowing. It sounded entirely too perfect a laugh for a real human being. "I won't hurt you. But there are things you need to know, things that I can't explain to you on my own."

"You mean... you mean there are others?" Draco's interest was greatly piqued now. Were they others he'd dreamt of? Other people whom he'd attended Hogwarts with? If Hermione existed, did that mean that Harry, Ron, and the others were real too? But of course they weren't! They were figments of his imagination and for some reason this girl was set on yanking his chain about it. "Look, I don't know what you're playing at but it isn't funny." Draco hated being made the fool. He had enough of that at home.

Hermione held her hands up in a surrendering gesture. "Draco, I promise that I'm not playing at anything. Please just follow me. There are things you need to know, things that you'll want to learn. I can guarantee you won't regret it."

He considered her option for a few more moments, eyeing her skeptically, before deciding that she seemed sincere – at least, sincere enough for him to agree to follow her. Her relief was nearly palpable and it was clear by her body language that she'd been afraid he would react violently towards her, which made him wonder just how much this girl knew about him and his home life. He refused to take after his father. Violence, he knew firsthand, solved nothing.

So, without hesitating any longer, he followed the strange girl down the street. They said nothing on their journey, though Draco opened and closed his mouth several times as he debated asking her where they were going. He didn't have to wait long to find out though, as after only ten minutes of walking, they stopped in front of a building with the number 12 on the outside. It was obviously someone's home, though he doubted it was Hermione's, even if he wasn't sure why.

There appeared to be no handle on the door, so Draco wondered how they were supposed to get in, but Hermione merely spoke a password and the door swung open to allow them entrance. Draco was getting a bad feeling about this. He stood on the threshold, uncertain, and Hermione looked back at him once she was inside with an imploring look. "Come inside, Draco. I won't hurt you."

Draco wanted to snort but instead he took a deep breath and followed her into the dark, dank house, jumping as the door swung shut behind him with no one visibly closing it. "Where... where are we?" he asked cautiously.

Hermione continued on down the hall, glancing around into the various rooms as she did so. "Number 12 Grimmauld Place," she said, as if that answered all of his questions, when really it only stirred up more.

Draco heard voices coming from what he presumed was the basement. He couldn't tell how many people were down there, only that they were having an animated conversation from the sound of it. He wasn't sure but he thought he'd heard his name come up once or twice.

Hermione was standing at the top of the steps that led downstairs and looked over her shoulder to see Draco hesitating a few feet away. "Come on. It'll be worth it, I promise."

Draco looked at her like she was crazy, a beautifully manicured eyebrow raising to show his skepticism, but he followed her as she asked and once they were standing in the large room that was the basement, all the voices ceased to be heard. Draco looked around the room and realized, with a great jolt of shock, that they were the faces of the people whom he'd believed only existed in his dreams.

And when that realization hit him, he hit the floor. Draco Malfoy, for the first time in his life, had fainted.

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**Author's Notes:** So, what did you think? Obviously things are going to be a bit OOC when it comes to some of these characters, but I hope that I ultimately remain true to the characteristics that make them such lovable characters in the first place. Let me know any thoughts/questions/comments in a review!


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